They Still
by M'selle de Paris
Summary: PostHBP, Ginny's annoyed about the seemingly pointless breakup. And does something about it. Oneshot. Must I state the pairing?...


_Just something I felt like writing, since I'm in a kind of cutesy-pairing mood. And I'm getting really antsy about all these fics with Harry and Ginny not together…I mean, not that I don't like them—I just need my fix. ;)_

_**Warning**: if you don't already know what happens in HBP, then you will after reading this. But seriously—if you're browsing through Harry Potter fics and haven't even read the latest book, what kind of fan are you anyway?_

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Not for the first time, Ginny couldn't sleep.

It seemed the most impossible of all scenarios. Ever since Harry had so blatantly expressed his feelings for her after that Quidditch match, she couldn't stop imagining how things would be afterwards—they'd be together at meals, in the common room, on trips…and, especially, at the Burrow during the summer. In her mind she'd conjured countless scenes in which she and Harry went about everything they did during the summer _together_, and just the thrill of being a couple. Playing Quidditch on the same team, and instead of high-fives after scoring, perhaps a kiss (or even if they were on opposite teams!); when it was their turn to cook dinner (Mrs. Weasley had a routine where every night the group cooking dinner rotated, and she had all the kids partake), bickering affably about what to make or what to put in or who was doing what wrong, then "making up" after their little jokes; going out to dinner with everyone (as they all did at least once every summer, with all the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione) and actually having someone to dance with afterwards (other than her brothers!), with Harry holding her _just_ so…walking through Diagon Alley holding hands…sharing a compartment on the train to school all snuggled up against him as they talked—or even just being together in silence, sharing the moment…

The main thing was being _together_. And not 'together' meaning Harry and her _with_ all the Weasleys and Hermione—not even just her, Harry, Ron and Hermione. She wanted it to be her and Harry: even if they weren't doing anything at all, just being _with_ him was what she wanted. And, so far, there'd been nothing.

After their breakup at the end of the year, Harry had gone back to just being her older brother's friend again. Not that he wasn't friendly—they would all still talk and joke together, all of them. But he never really spoke to her directly, or on her own. The only contact she had with him was in conversations with the rest of the group. And she couldn't stand it like that!

When he'd broken it off, he'd explained why: it was too dangerous to get too close; Voldemort (she flinched slightly in spite of herself, just from thinking the name—it was strange; she'd never minded saying when she was with Harry) would hurt him through the ones he loved. And she understood this: it made perfect sense. But, the thing was, it wasn't like there were miles separating them, by being apart: she still cared as much for him as she ever had, and he (she hoped!) still felt the same about her. He still loved her just as much as he had when they were together—maybe even more!

Absence makes the heart grow fonder…she'd read that in some Muggle book or other she'd seen in a shop. She hadn't thought much of it before—in fact, she'd never understood it until now. But now, it rang as true as it ever had for anyone—except that this absence hurt more, because Harry wasn't entirely gone: it was just that…he was just gone from the position of boyfriend.

She sighed heavily. _Ginny, Ginny,_ she thought to herself. _Stop this! It's not changing anything. Just dwelling on it, without realizing anything more on the subject, isn't going to make him change his mind. And he's only doing it to protect you, anyways! It's an act of love that he's doing this!_

But it didn't feel like love to her. It was worse than when she'd liked him in her first (and second…and third, and fourth, and fifth…oh, she'd never _stopped_ liking him since the moment she first saw him at the station!) year—back then, it was only pining for him in that childish, ignorant way that young children do: they like people for the most obscure reasons; for example if they pick up a book they dropped, or just speak to them, or if they're especially cute. Well—that wasn't the case after her third year; she'd spent enough time with him to realize that it wasn't just a little crush: she really did _'like'_ him, to put it in the language of her fellow adolescents. But now…now that she'd known what it was like to finally be with him…it made the wanting all the worse.

Ginny swiftly pushed her mind away from those thoughts. They weren't getting her anywhere, and they were only making her feel worse. What she was really trying to figure out was how much safer Harry thought she was when they _weren't_ going out! After all—they weren't Muggles; Voldemort knew Legilimens, of course—he wouldn't have to see them kissing to figure out Harry's feelings for her! And when they'd started going out, virtually everyone in school knew, including teachers—Snape had probably heard it at one point, and now he'd gone running off back to Voldemort: it was bound to be mentioned sometime or another!

So…why couldn't they be together? Surely Harry realized all this too! Breaking up didn't stop her feelings; why should it kill his?

She was almost angry at him at this point. And she couldn't stand this anymore: this polite friendliness; and only around the rest of the bunch. This couldn't go on: even if the outcome of a confrontation didn't end up the way she'd have liked, it had to happen eventually.

Ginny slowly and quietly pushed her covers off and got out of bed, glancing over at Hermione—sound asleep in a twin bed a few feet away from hers—as she did so. She pulled the door open just enough to slip out, trying to avoid any creaking. Tiptoeing down the hall, she paused to gain her bearings.

This summer, Fred and George were staying at the Burrow—her parents had insisted on it, because of the whole business at Hogwarts—but instead of being in their own room they'd taken over Ron's, and Hermione and Ginny were in theirs. (Ginny didn't see that much logic in this, but felt it had something to do with the fact that Fred and George's room was probably somewhat…cleaner, since they hadn't been living in it for a while.) As a result, Ron and Harry were squeezed into two separate guest rooms (previously used as storage space for anything and everything laying around the house). Ginny felt more grateful than ever for this now: it would have been pretty awkward trying to stage a private conversation with Harry with Ron snoring just an arm's span away. And she really wouldn't have wanted to try and get him aside during the day: too much going on, too many people milling about; there wouldn't be a room free to use for that amount of time or enough time between activities in the house to do it. _And besides_, she thought impishly, _nighttime is just more romantic_.

She crept down the hall to the first guest room and slowly pushed open the door—and then swiftly but silently pulled it shut again after seeing the smudge of red hair peeking out from under the covers. She hadn't been able to remember which of the guests rooms Harry was staying in. _Apparently not that one,_ she thought unnecessarily. Fortunately, her brother hadn't woken—so she turned and inched her way down the hall in the other direction, arrived at the correct door, and opened it carefully.

The second guest bedroom was much smaller, as she remembered, and so Mrs. Weasley had cleared more junk out of it than she had for the first—thus leaving the room much less cluttered than the other. She'd have a much easier time making her way across the room to Harry's bed, she saw in relief.

But for the moment, she remained where she was, looking at the sleeping form sprawled out on the narrow bed. One hand dangled off the side, in the shadows, while his right side was illuminated in a soft, almost blue, light by the window on the wall the bed was against. His glasses were off and lying on the bedside table, and his brow was furrowed in worry above his eyes. His chest rose and fell gently as he breathed, and—though Ginny felt stupid and shallow for just standing and ogling at a time like this—it wasn't too bad a chest in itself, she noticed. She smiled slightly. He didn't even have the slightest clue just how many girls pined after him. He had no idea how attractive he was.

But it wasn't for that that Ginny'd always liked him. Honestly—she'd liked him even back when he was just a skinny little awkward boy with the burden of having one of the most powerful wizards in the world out to get him. She'd stuck with him through everything, too—granted, she wouldn't even have seen him at all had her brother not been his best friend…but it seemed like fate that he turned out to be. Ginny couldn't imagine loving a single person in the world more than she loved Harry. Romantically, that is.

She pulled herself out of her reverie as she gazed at him—and realized she must have let her guard down and made some kind of sound, for just as she came back to reality, Harry stirred and slowly opened his eyes. Upon seeing her standing in the doorway, he pushed himself up in surprise, looking at her quizzically.

"Gin? Why are you—"

She put a finger to her mouth, turned and shut the door softly, then began picking her way through the mess to his bed. Sitting down on the end of it—as far away from Harry as she could be—she bit her lip and looked at him tentatively.

"I…I was thinking, Harry…about—us…" Now that she was here, her indignant thoughts had fled, and she only felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. She couldn't even remember the arguments she'd thought of to convince him as to why they should be together.

"Oh—Ginny, I—"

"No, wait," she said, cutting him off again. She took a breath to calm herself. She came here to do something, and she was going to do it right. "I know why you told me we couldn't be together. I get it. Voldemort. But—" she raised her eyebrows as he opened his mouth to interject, silencing him once more, and continued— "by not being—together, we aren't—we don't—we still feel…" she faltered again. Harry leaned forward and put a hand on hers, distracting her even more. But she gently pulled hers away, and continued more confidently: "If you feel differently by now, then so be it. But I just needed you to know—well—I still feel the same way for you as I did when we _were_ together. It's not like Voldemort wouldn't—wouldn't know that! We're not in a Muggle film here—" she laughed despite herself, and saw Harry smiling wryly— "we're witches and wizards, we use magic, he'd find out if he wanted to. He'd find out anything and everything you cared about if he needed to. As a matter of fact—with Snape and all—he may even already know!" She paused, frowning worriedly and looking down at her bare feet, her pyjama bottoms so long they almost covered them completely.

"Look. My point is—we're not accomplishing anything like this. And I don't…I don't like—this…" her voice trailed off again. She felt tears prick her eyes, and she shut them so as not to let him see—not that it did any good.

Which was why she was surprised to feel his hand on her chin, gently pulling her face in his direction. She opened her eyes, and saw his—staring directly back at hers with an expression she'd seen before when he looked at her, but never with such intensity.

That was when she realized she hadn't been the only one longing.

"Ginny, you can't possibly think I don't still feel that way too," he said softly, his palm cool against her flushed cheek. "And don't assume I didn't realize that either. I thought of it not too long after I—well, ended…us," he admitted.

Ginny felt hope welling up inside her. He continued,

"I was…I was afraid. I thought the same as you—that maybe you…" He grinned suddenly. "Well, you did seem to go through your boys rather fast."

Ginny laughed gently in spite of herself, looking away as her cheeks heated again. But his hand stayed against her face, pushing back her fiery hair now.

"I wasn't sure if I'd completely ended all hope of you and me. But I knew…" he smiled again, "I knew you. I had to be sure—and I knew if you still wanted…us…you'd make it known. And here you are."

Ginny caught on.

"You little sneak! You were waiting for me to—to—"

Harry nodded, the smile growing wider.

"I needed to be sure you still…you still…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

Ginny leaned forward and placed her lips lightly on his cheek.

"I still," she confirmed. Harry pulled her to him, holding her fiercely; Ginny doing the same.

She didn't even try to quell the joy inside her; she trembled from the intensity of the feeling. They could still be together! They could still hold hands and bicker and kiss…they could still hug and cuddle and talk about everything and nothing late into the night…they could still—

They could just still.

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Well. Hey, I just realized, this is my first HP fic- well, the first one actually written out and submitted. I've dreamed up a ton in my head- but we all know what happens to a lot of the fics we all dream up. 

Anyways- **review!**


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